In The Bamboo Grove
by wlkwos
Summary: In which the young Sannin are halfway up a mountain, plastered in mud, their hair tangled, and their knees skinned. And it's Jiraiya's fault, as usual. A oneshot for Crowind.


For Crowind, as thanks for the fiftieth review of To The Deep North. Thank you also for your detailed, critical reviews! I truly appreciate your feedback. Hope you enjoy your baby Sannin oneshot!

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In The Bamboo Grove

It was, as usual, Jiraiya's fault. And, as usual, he had got the idea from a book. A natural history book, to be precise, which was why he and his teammates were now halfway up a mountain, plastered in mud, their hair snarled and tangled with leaves and twigs, and their knees skinned.

"Remind me again why we are doing this?" Orochimaru said, brushing his fringe out of his eyes with one grubby hand.

"Because of Jiraiya's crazy idea," said Tsunade peevishly. Her cheeks were flushed pink with exertion and her ponytail had come halfway out of its tie. "Jiraiya, I bet you it doesn't exist."

The white-haired boy further up the slope paused and turned round, grinning broadly. "Of course it does," he said. "I told you, it's in the book –"

"With pictures and all, yes, I know," said Tsunade. "I still bet you it doesn't exist."

"I bet you it does." A mischievous glint came into his eye. "If I win the bet, you go out on a date with me."

Tsunade wrinkled up her nose. "Yeah, right. When I win, I am going to give you a really good wallop for this stupid idea."

Jiraiya crossed his hands behind his head, pursed his lips and started whistling nonchalantly.

"Don't be so confident," Tsunade said, cracking her knuckles ominously.

Orochimaru leaned up against the trunk of the nearest tree, sighing with all the world-weariness that a ten-year-old could muster. They had this argument at least once a day, and he had better things to do than listen to all the in-between bits whilst waiting for the inevitable conclusion. There was that technique he'd been working on all week – somehow it just wasn't coming right – but if he perhaps tried something more like _this_, diffusing the chakra throughout his tongue instead of concentrating it in just one spot – ah – yess – that was better, much better –

"Are you touching your forehead with your tongue?"

The sound of Jiraiya's voice broke his concentration, and the jutsu failed again, his tongue shrinking rapidly back to its normal length. His teammates were standing in front of him, fascination and disgust mingling in their expressions.

"Eww," said Tsunade. "That's kinda creepy."

Orochimaru shrugged. "You have a problem with snakes?" he asked, straightening up, and brushing bark and dirt from his white yukata.

"I don't like creepy-crawlies," she said. "Bugs and snakes and worms and slugs. But don't you think of dropping them down the back of my shirt," she added fiercely, glaring at both boys.

Jiraiya backed up a step, waving his hands in front of him and grinning nervously. "Wouldn't think of it." He swung round. "Come on," he said. "It's not far now. We're almost at the bamboo groves."

The three children started off again, scrambling through the tangled undergrowth and piles of deadfall. Trailing after the other two, Orochimaru tried the jutsu again. How far could he stretch his tongue? Easy enough to touch his chin – now stretch it a little further – further – down to his chest – He held it there a moment, and then, letting more chakra flow through it, he let it slither further and further out. A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he began to coil and bend and twist his tongue this way and that.

The forest here was made up of deciduous trees, massive and gnarled with age. Their trunks were festooned with mosses and lichens, and old man's beard hung from their branches. In places, there were rents in the canopy, left by the fall of some great tree, and in these clearings, bush clover grew in thick stands, swaying and trembling in the slightest breath of air. The remains of the tree, dank and decaying, were covered in the brilliant orange brackets of the trumpet fungus.

The ground was rutted and uneven, and carpeted in last year's withered leaves, and clumps of fern. Strands of spider silk stretched from tree to tree, and Jiraiya, in the lead, had to keep batting cobwebs from his face. Nevertheless, Tsunade was horrified when a large black and yellow-striped spider dropped onto his head and scuttled through his white mane.

"Jiraiya!" she shrieked. "Spider!"

With a yelp, Jiraiya spun round at once, beating at his back, just as Orochimaru uncoiled his tongue, intending to knock the spider off Jiraiya's head. Instead, his tongue struck Jiraiya full in the face with a thick wet slapping sound. Both boys froze in horror, staring at each other, and then Orochimaru released the jutsu, his tongue whipping back into his mouth.

Slowly, as if unable to quite comprehend what had just happened, Jiraiya raised a hand to touch his face. "Did you just –" He pulled his hand away. "You did!" He started scrubbing at his cheek with his sleeve.

Orochimaru scrunched up his face. "You taste foul," he said. "When did you last wash?"

"This morning!" said Jiraiya. "Ugh! I can't believe you did that!"

"Neither can I. My tongue will never be clean again."

Tsunade rolled her eyes. "Yeah, you're both disgusting," she said. "Jiraiya, get a move on."

He turned to look at her. "It's your fault, Tsunade. If you hadn't screamed –"

"_You_ screamed even louder." She planted her hands on her hips. "Now, are you going to show us this mythical bird or not?"

Jiraiya eyeballed her resentfully. "It's not mythical. There are _pictures_."

"Whatever," said Tsunade. "I won't believe it till I see it. _If_ I see it."

"You're trying to pick a fight, aren't you?"

Tsunade snorted. "Get on with it, Jiraiya, or else I'm going home."

"Ok, ok, follow me," said Jiraiya. "And nobody is to scream or use their tongues again."

"Agreed," said Orochimaru fervently. "The first thing I'm doing when I get home is washing my mouth out."

Jiraiya leading, they wound their way through the trees, cutting across the face of the mountain. The oaks and ash began to thin out, and here and there tall bamboo canes grew in clumps. Ahead, they could hear the sound of running water.

"We'll need to move quietly now," Jiraiya said, glancing back over his shoulder. "The basan is easily scared. If we're too loud, it may hide and refuse to come out."

"So we're close, then?" Tsunade asked. Despite herself, she could feel her palms tingling and there were butterflies in her stomach. Somewhere ahead, this bird might exist –

"The book says it haunts the bamboo forest on the mountain slope. Once we're over the stream –"

Tsunade nodded. "Got it."

The stream ahead was bigger and deeper than the children had thought at first. It chattered and gurgled over a bed of black granite and fine brown silt. Tumbled piles of rocks lay across its course, damming the flow in some places to make still dark pools, fringed with moss and overhanging ferns, splitting the waters in other places so that they ran in several channels. The only way over was to leap from one smooth wet stone to the next.

Midway across, Jiraiya paused, teetering on one foot on a stepping-stone. "Did you hear that?"

"You're going to fall in," said Tsunade, glancing down at the black pool below her. "That stone is too damp for your chakra to grip it properly."

Jiraiya grinned at her, waggling his raised foot to show just how good his balance was, and raised a finger to his lips. "Shhh. I thought I heard it."

The three children stood poised in mid-stream, straining their ears. The mountain seemed eerily quiet, the only sound the rushing of the stream and the hissing of the wind through the bamboo grove. The light dimmed as a cloud passed overhead, and Tsunade felt sweat prick out on her skin.

There! Her heart suddenly leaped up in her chest as she stared through the gloom. Was that something moving on the opposite bank? Something coming towards them through the bamboo trunks? She leaned forward, gazing intently at the shape amongst the trees.

The next moment, her feet shot out from underneath her, slipping on the smooth wet stone. She flailed, trying frantically to grip the rock with chakra – anything to stop her fall – and then something warm and wet and slimy wrapped around her wrist from behind. With a squeal she would later do her best to forget, she seized the horrible slimy thing with her free hand, feeling it twitch and writhe in her grip, and hurled it over her head, just as gravity beat out chakra, and she plunged headfirst into the pool.

The last thing she saw, just before hitting the water, was Orochimaru flying through the air and crashing into Jiraiya, knocking him clean off his rock.

The two boys went sprawling into the mud on the far bank, Jiraiya winded and making goldfish faces as he struggled to draw breath. "I – tho- ugh – thought – I told you – no – more – tongue," he wheezed as Orochimaru crawled out of his lap.

"I was trying to help Tsunade."

"Tsu– nade!" Jiraiya croaked. "Where – is she?"

Tsunade resurfaced in a breaking wave of silt and frog spawn, her hair streaming sheets of water over her face. She pushed the sopping mess off her forehead, her eyes blazing, and both boys stilled.

"You – you –" she spluttered. Jiraiya, still breathless, began to flop around frantically, like a mudskipper, whilst Orochimaru casually sidled a few feet further downstream.

Pouring water, Tsunade rose from the pool like a dragon from the waves. "Never … ever …"

Jiraiya miraculously found his feet. "It was an accident, Tsunade! It wasn't my fault!"

"Not your fault? We wouldn't have been here if it hadn't been for your crazy idea to look for an imaginary bird in the first place!"

"It's not an imaginary bird!" Jiraiya said, backing up a step. "The basan really exists – it's a great big fire-breathing chicken!"

Tsunade stood in stunned silence for a moment, staring at Jiraiya, her eyes dilating.

"Uh-oh," he said. And then, spinning on his heel, "Run!"

The two boys bounded away through the trees, Tsunade tearing after them. Her voiced floated back up the mountainside. "A chicken? All of this was for a _chicken_?"

The crashes and yelps and other sounds of pursuit faded into the distance, and the clouds rolled on overhead. The sun shone out again, lighting the bamboo groves, and presently the jungle fowl stirred from its huddle amongst the leaves and went its way, shaking its red cockscomb and breathing little tongues of fire.


End file.
